


One Night Gone Wrong

by Lil_Hal



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Death, Demon possession, Ish?? - Freeform, M/M, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Hal/pseuds/Lil_Hal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the cliche guidelines of most fics ever, John Egbert goes for a peaceful movie-watching time with the Strider brothers, but gets the horrifyingly unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night Gone Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/gifts).



> Remember this?  
> I decided to post it.

Your name is John Egbert, and today you are visiting the Striders in their apartment for a movie day. When you come to the door, both Dirk and Dave answer, inviting you inside. You follow the brothers to your couch, and you notice they’re leaving a spot for you to sit in between them. You smile a little to yourself and grab the popcorn, sitting down and clicking the remote so the movie can start playing. At the starting music, Dirk cringes. You glance over at him and he makes a face that says dude, really ? Only not literally because neither of you are telepathic and if he dared to speak out loud during the movie you’d have to sock it to his face. You opt for a cocky-ass smile and turn back to the movie. 

Through the first quarter of the movie, Dirk provides bothersome comments and critiques about everything he hated about this movie, which was absolutely everything , from the plot to the dialogue to the cast. You’re gritting your teeth and sticking out through the whole ordeal, although sometimes you have quick arguments that you abruptly stop every time one of your favorite parts of the movie comes up, which is practically every scene. Dave is quiet, predictably. 

Halfway through the movie, Dirk goes silent. You’re enjoying the quietness when you glance over at Dirk and notice he’s positively asleep. His head is thrown back against the headrest of the couch, his mouth slightly ajar, and the dorky kid looks positively adorable. You stare at him, forgetting about the movie because wow what a cutie. You reach for his stupid shades, wanting to get a better look at the kid’s face. 

”I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Dave’s warning does nothing to deter you from removing the accessory that you are certain is affecting negatively the cute features of Dirk. The lens are thick and smooth and dark, and at first when you try to pull the shades off his face, they barely budge. After a grunt and a tug, they’re freed into your hand. You grin triumphantly. 

”You’re an idiot, John.” 

You ignore Dave yet again and peer eagerly at the kawaii boy’s face and-- 

”OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK!” 

You’re screamingly loudly as you stare into Dirk’s opened eyes, if you can even call them that. He’s “staring” at you with a detached, murderous glare. He slowly raises his head out of the sleep-induced position and he’ slowly leaning toward you and you slide the fuck off that couch. You subconsciously notice that Dave has already darted for the door. 

”John you are an IDIOT IF WE DIE THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT I WARNED YOU ABOUT THE SHADES BRO I FUCKING TOLD YOU, DAWG, FUCK THE DOOR WON’T OPEN JOHN IF DIRK DOESN’T MURDER YOU I SURE AS HELL WILL!” 

You dart to the other side of the room as Dirk slowly, hypnotically stands and shuffles across the room to you, and you swear he has an orange glow to him and if looks could kill you’d be SO dead right now. 

”You touched the shades.” Dirk’s eyes are...he doesn’t have any. You stare into the gaping holes and you’re screaming and Dave’s screaming and Dirk is advancing toward you and you are backed up against the wall, the frames of Dirk’s shades still in your grip and digging into your skin. 

”YOU TOUCHED THE SHADES!” 

You scream like a girl and the room shakes and you are on the floor, shivering, crying, cold sweat running down your neck and face and drenching your clothes. You stare up in fear as Dirk stares back down at you (if you can even call it staring. What is it called when someone with no eyes looks directly at you?!?!?). 

”Give me them.” Dirk’s voice is now soft, and it echoes, and the orange light he is emitting is sparking up around him and you flinch, your grip tightening on the frames despite your instinct telling you to give the bastard the shades back. Blood runs down your palm and you find it hard to look away from those gaping holes in his face, those holes that should definitely be covered back up by the very shades you are holding on to, as if it was for your dear life (when, in fact, it’s the opposite. You’re holding on for death, at this point). 

”I SAID GIVE ME THE SHADES!” 

Impact hits your face and you’re knocked backwards, a bruise forming instantly. Tears stream down your face and you bite your lip so hard you think perhaps you’ve torn it. You taste blood and feel blood slipping down your wrist, to your elbow, to the floor. You’re no longer certain where Dave is. You know Dirk is still above you. 

Barely above you. You flinch when you feel his too-cold breath against your cheek--the one that has not been harmed--and he prods one of your closed eyelids with a sharp fingernail. 

”What did I just tell you to do, John?” Dirk prompts, now sounding gentle, sweet, as if he merely wants to make sure you heard, just as a mother softly scolds her child for being only barely disobedient for the reason of not knowing any better. 

”Y-you…” Your voice catches in your throat and you knit your eyebrows, concentrating, because all of a sudden you have no idea what the hell he told you to do and all you are aware of is the fact that he is going to kill you, surely. 

” What did I say, John?! ” His voice is harsher, less patient, gruff and grating and sharp. You whimper softly. 

”You...you told me to give you...your…” What did he want? You don’t know what he wants. You’ve forgotten about what it is and you’ve forgotten about the object you’re holding, only aware that it hurts, oh god it hurts . 

”Give me my what, John? Give me my what ?!” Your arm feels on fire as sharp fingernails are dug into the skin, causing all the area around it to feel as if it was exploding with a terrible, burning sort of pain. 

Your horror grows when you actually do smell burning flesh. You can’t will yourself to look, and you can’t will yourself to speak. 

There’s a pause. The grip on your arm loosens, just a bit, and you feel a tiny spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he will have mercy. Maybe he’ll remind you what he wants so you can give it back to him. Maybe he’ll apologize. Maybe he’ll go back to normal. Why can’t he just be the dorky kid again? God, you want that dorky kid back. You’d only known him for the length of an hour and a half, but any weird-ass kid is better than this freaky as hell bastard. 

Dirk speaks again, inquiring and harsh and threatening. 

”Brother, what are you doing?” 

There’s a clang as metal hits the floor probably a few feet behind you, and a soft sound of a nervous whimper. 

”N-nothing, Dirk. Just, um, trying to help you out?” 

”I doubt it. Somehow, I feel like that weapon was meant against me, hm?” Chastising and cold, Dirk’s ever-changing yet ever-constant voice makes you shudder. You still don’t dare to open your eyes. The burning grip on your arm has gone away completely, leaving only scalding flesh. There’s a silence that lasts five heartbeats, and you know it’s exactly that much because all you can hear is your pounding heart and the blood roaring in your ears. 

”Bro, Dirk, dude, no, get the fuck away, dude I fucking mean it-- ” Dave’s terrified voice is cut off and you hear something heavy thump against the wall, and some terrible noises as you listen to Dave choking from what you know is Dirk’s grip. 

”Are you trying to protect John, Brother? Were you trying to hurt me with that sword? The sword I gave you for your birthday five years ago?”  
You cringe as Dave attempts his response and merely makes more strangled sounds. It’s horrifying you and you pray to every omnipotent being that could possibly be out there to just make it stop, God, please make it stop. 

”Come on, my dear older brother, I know you have words. I’ve listened to you talk and ramble about your shitty movies for so many years, what’s with your voice now? Can’t you finally have time for your little brother, hmm?” 

”D-Dirk!! Stop!” Apparently Dirk loosened up to let his brother breathe, because the rasping, clearly injured voice was definitely Dave’s. 

”Why don’t you answer my questions? Dave? Perhaps you’ll answer for John, will you?” 

There’s a numb, terrible tingling feeling as Dirk mentions your name and you stiffen, sobbing quietly into your uninjured arm that is cushioning your head against the hard carpet beneath you. 

”John, get up, look at your friend, now.”  
You don’t budge, against your better judgement. 

” John .” 

You squeak, softly, and raise your head, turning just barely to the direction of the voice. You don’t open your eyes. 

”John, I’m tired of your bullshit. I’m tired of listening to your completely shitty movies every fucking night, I’m tired of seeing you outside my door, and I’m really fucking tired of your goddamn unwillingness to listen. ” 

”John, don’t look, oh god don’t fucking look--” Dave’s voice cuts off again and your eyes fly open, although you swear you did not tell your body to do that. 

The sight is horrifying. The room is entirely dark, the television somehow being shut off, save for the eerie orange glow still illuminating around Dirk, around Dave, around you. Dave is being held against the wall, both of Dirk’s hands wrapped tight around his severely-burnt neck, the demonic son of a bitch putting all of his weight on his hands, on Dave’s neck, on the wall. Blood is sliding down from the entire circumference of Dave’s throat, as if he’d been slit with a sharp object (although the only one of those around was the sword, left abandoned and perfectly clean on the ground next to the brothers’ feet). Dirk’s teeth were bared, sharp, and blood-stained. You are queasy, so very ill, and your head is light from the horrifying sight in front of you, from the burn, from the blood that is still seeping from the ever-deepening cut on the object that no longer has a name. 

”Good, John, you’ve finally done something I fucking asked you to do. I’d tell you to give yourself a very condescending pat on the back but I don’t think your right arm nor your left hand are ready for such.” He sounds a little appreciative, and for some reason you have an unwelcome sense of accomplishment at doing what he wants you to do. You vaguely know you should not be feeling this way, but you do anyway. Your entire view has been shifted with merely two sentences from the creepy bastard. You want to please him, make him proud of you, make him be satisfied with what you are doing. You want him to spare you, you want him to compliment you, you want to do whatever you can for him. You’re his. 

”Alright, my dear older brother.” Dirk’s attention shifts to Dave and he once again lets Dave breathe, and Dave gulps down the air without a single word. You frown, prickling with a sharp sense of jealousy. 

”John didn’t mean to hurt me, did he, brother?” 

”Of fucking course not.” 

”My, my. How rude.” Dirk dips his head and bites Dave’s arm, and Dave yelps, blood immediately trickling down in fast streams, and as Dirk pulls away, blood staining his face, you notice the skin around the wound has an orange, rotting tint to it. You’re horrified. You’re thrilled. You want to run away. You want to stay and watch. 

”Now, tell me the truth. Did you mean to hurt me?” 

”I know better than to attack my fucking lunatic brother.” 

”Liar!” Dirk knees Dave in the groin and Dave yelps, his face twisting with pain and his younger brother lets go of him, watching Dave crumple to the ground. 

Dave glared furiously up at Dirk, panting, angry tears staining his face and you feel sick with envy, an itching in you because you want the attention god do you want it and you purposely dig the object in your hand deeper into your cut to make you feel as though your need is lessened. You wince at the feeling and you wince as Dirk delivers a hard kick to Dave’s side, earning another scream from the older brother. 

”Did you. Have any intention. Of hurting me. At all… brother ?!” Dirk’s voice is seething with rage, and the way he spits out his name for Dave is so full of malice that both you and Dave flinch from fear. Your eyes widen and no you do not want to be here and you do not want Dirk’s attention what were you thinking !? You want to run, you want to get up and run, but you know there’s no hope. There’s no hope to escape, to be safe, to not be injured fatally or, more plausibly, killed. Why were you so stupid? Why did you…you don’t even know what you did. 

”ANSWER ME!” You hadn’t realized how long it’d been since Dirk had asked the question until Dirk screamed those words furiously at his brother, lifting his foot and slowly stepping on Dave’s wrist, Dirk’s face twisted with concentration and shaking with anger and the strain of putting his entire weight on that wrist until it finally gives a sound snap and the room is filled with Dave’s screaming, and your screaming, and it seems like the entire world is screaming with you and yet at the same time screaming at you and it is horrible and you are shaking so badly and you wonder as you scream if you’ll ever recover from this. 

Dirk seems to have given up on Dave, because he turns to look at you, and your eyes widen and you feel frozen, locked into the horrifying black depths that should be his eyes. “I doubt it,” he says to you, softly, as if answering a question, and you are confused because you have not said anything for what seems a very long time. 

Dave is abandoned on the floor, no longer making a sound, and you’re sure he’s passed out from blood loss or pain or maybe even fear. You want to pass out, too. You want to escape this hellish nightmare of a reality. You want to wake up from this bad dream by falling out of it. God. 

Dirk crouches next to you, and your eyes follow him as he does. He smiles, cruelly, and you hate that sharp-toothed, terrible grin and yet the more you look at it the more you are satisfied with the fact that you are making him smile like that, he’s smiling because of you. Just look at that grin. 

As soon as you think this, his smile dissolves, and you are left with a terrible feeling of dismay and sadness. Why did he stop? You want him to smile. You want him to be happy. You want him to touch you. You want him to die. No, you don’t! That’s terrible thinking. Dirk, Dirk is perfect. You love him. 

”You stole something from me, John.” The disappointment in his voice makes you cringe. Why did you take the item? What item did you take? Why can’t you remember? 

”I’d like it back, now.” 

You are aware of the object in your left hand and you shift your weight onto your injured right arm in favor of returning the sacred thing you had shamelessly stolen from him. You extend your good arm out towards Dirk, hoping silently that he will forgive you for your terrible crimes. Dirk reaches for whatever is in your hand--for some reason you can’t even bring yourself to look at what it is--and he smirks, pulling it out of your cut, causing the gush of blood being held back by his possession to quickly flow out of your hand, down your arm, onto the floor. It stings, and the pain makes you wince, your head continuously getting lighter and lighter. 

”Good.” Dirk slowly wiped the blood off the object with the hem of his shirt, turning the crisp whiteness of it a dark crimson. You frown, noticing how bloody he already is, and you silently wonder how such a perfect being could ever get so dirty. 

Dirk’s laugh surprises you, and it’s a menacing, chiming laughter that sounds like bells and clashing metal and the scrape of claws against chalkboard and the sound somehow feels like skin against sandpaper, despite the obvious fact that feeling sounds is not exactly something that really happens, at least, not like this. 

”You think I’m perfect, John?” He leans in, close to your face, and you take in the sight of him, oh the beautiful sight. There’s something enthralling about his eyeless sockets, something attractive in the pale, horrific face that seems to radiate contained rage, a sadistic humor, a violent being that had waited for so, so long to be set free and by the one, seemingly minor sin you have committed, has succeeded in being so. 

You respond with a soft murmur of confirmation, and his smile melts, and he glares at you, and you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of terror and you try to back away, because whatever spell you’d momentarily been under has broken and he’s a monster, a horrible hideous monster in the form of a demonic human, and you have to get away more than anything else in the world. 

” You think I’m perfect now, John?! ” Dirk practically pounces on you, forcing you flat on your back, ignoring your scream of pain as he digs his fingernails into both arms this time, his face only centimeters away from yours, his teeth bared and devilishly sharp. 

You don’t respond, you can’t respond, you’re trying to escape from his grip but the more you struggle the more he holds on and the more pain-fire spreads from the clawmarks he’s making on you. There’s the smell of burning, rotting flesh again, and dried blood, and now that you’re close to Dirk you can smell him too; his smell is odd, and very different from anything you’re familiar with smelling, almost tangible yet not at the same time, smelling of thousands of things that you cannot even put to name. It’s unearthly, it’s terrible, and it’s making you feel even sicker. You start to heave, wretching with popcorn that tastes like vomit and burns the inside of your throat and comes up into your mouth and you’re about to puke it up when your most-injured arm is freed and Dirk’s hand is slapped on top of your mouth, forcing you to swallow everything back down. 

Dirk shifts, sitting on your stomach so his legs are folded and his knees are helping to hold your arms down, one hand still gripping your arm tight, the other moving from your mouth to your cheek, scraping gently and yet somehow managing to cause the skin to rip, blood flowing out of the wound and more screams escaping you. Your throat is sore, so sore, and you wonder how you haven’t yet lost your voice. You are drenched in your own blood and you wonder how you haven’t collapsed from blood loss, why you haven’t been graced with death yet. You know you should be dead, you should be mute, you should not be so awake or so alive or so able to remain...connected. The only answer you can think to provide yourself is Dirk. You don’t know how, you don’t know why, but he’s what’s keeping you here, keeping you present, keeping you in this terrible world of perpetual nightmares. Oh, how you wish this is just a nightmare. If only you could wake up. 

”John, you need to answer me. Right now. Answer my question, John. You remember what I asked. I know you do. I would know if you didn’t.” 

You stare at him. “No.” 

He understands that this is the answer, not a statement of defiance, and he seems to peer straight through your eyes and into you, into your soul and into your mind and into your fears and into your doubts. You shudder, and yelp softly when that small movement from you caused a hellish amount of pain to flare from your arms, from your hand, from your cheek, from your mouth, from your throat. 

”Good. That’s good, John. Do you know why that’s good, John? Hmm?” 

”...No.” 

”It’s good because I don’t want you to think I’m perfect. I don’t want you to love me, I don’t want you to think what I do is good.” His forehead is against yours, and the touch is torture, he’s hot, so hot, and cold, so freezing cold. Your breath hitches painfully and you squeeze your eyes shut. Go away. Go away. Go the fuck away, now. 

”I’m terrible, I’m cruel, I’m merciless, I’m the most horrible thing you will ever see. Know this and know it well, John, let it be your last thought.” 

Your breathing speeds up, and you’re crying again. The weight on top of you seems to be getting increasingly heavier, and you’re not sure how much more of this you can bear. 

”Maybe I should thank you, John. You did me a favour tonight.” 

You don’t understand. What is he talking about? You didn’t do anything for Dirk. 

”I haven’t been able to do this for a long, long time. Thank you, John.” 

His voice is mocking and as he speaks he rakes his nails down your arm, and you try to scream but now your jaw won’t drop, your mouth won’t open, and you’re making a terrible, contained noise as you try desperately to scream through your sealed lips. 

”I’ll even let you have this back. I don’t need them anymore, anyway.” 

There’s a horrible, piercing pain in your chest and you know he’s stabbing you with something, and you realize it’s the object you’d taken, and he’s stabbing you over and over and over until you feel as though there is no pain, only the sense of a liquidy substance sliding out of your gashes and cuts and wounds, only the feeling of a numbness, a void where the pain had been repeatedly inflicted into you. Your breathing is terribly impaired, and you can only manage to gasp for air every few seconds, and yet somehow you’re alive, somehow you’re still living and bleeding and breathing and crying. 

There’s a soft clatter and you open your eyes, just a little, turning your head to see through your blurry, shaking vision the object you’d stolen, and now you finally remember it is a pair of shades. They’re gleaming in the dark, and for a moment you think you see a flash of bright red light in them, but it’s gone as soon as you’ve noticed and they lie still, dark, and bloodier than before. 

Dirk is quiet, sitting atop you, unmoving, silent in the most creepiest possible way. 

You’re still breathing. Why? 

Dirk moves, slowly, settling one of his hands on your chest wound and pushing down, hard, and getting up off of you, standing above you. He looks at you with those terrible, gaping sockets, and you stare right back, until he kicks you in your jaw, his foot connecting your face with a terrible sound, more pain flaring up throughout your entire being, and you can feel some teeth getting loose, maybe even falling out, perhaps just cracked. You can barely keep tally of your wounds anymore, all you are aware of is that you’re broken and there’s no possible chance of survival. You should have been dead hours ago. 

”It’s nice to finally be fucking rid of you, you piece of insignificant shit.” Dirk’s words are slow and cruel and as cutting as his shades were. “Nice to rid of my damn brother. Finally--” and with this he laughs-- “Finally I can do what I please. It’s so, so nice to be rid of you, and him, and him, it’s so nice.” He laughs again, in a manic way, licking his lips and showing off every one of his gleaming fangs. “Ah, humans. So pathetic, so weak, so easy . So. Much. Fun.” 

And with that he turns, walking slowly, leisurely, towards the door, kicking his brother out of the way, causing blood to smear against the ground. Dirk puts his hand on the door, and turns, looking your way. You stare back, weakly, not having even the strength to allow your eyes to close. 

Dirk smiles once more, and you’re barely aware that this will be the last time you see him, the last time you see him smile, and that thought pleases you, just a little, but unnerves you, a whole lot. You don’t want this to be the end. You don’t want to die yet. You aren’t old enough! You’re still young, you still have time to meet someone, get married, live life to the fullest! Right? 

But you know that’s not true, and the sound of the door opening is the single worst sound you have ever heard. You’d flinch, if you could, but you feel paralyzed and you cannot move, and then there’s the sound of Dirk snapping his fingers, once, and no… that is the worst sound in the world, the sound of doom and death and terror and the door shuts, your head lolls to the side, and the very last thing you notice is a glimmer of faint red text showing up on the shades but you cannot read it and your vision goes black and you breathe no more.


End file.
